Whispers Of Rebellion
by TrackerJackson
Summary: "What happens when they find us?" "It wouldn't matter. The rebellion will never die if we keep it in our hearts." Set before the Dark Days and follows the point of view of a young rebel who climbs her way to the top, witnessing the destruction of Panem with her own eyes. Rated T for violence. Please R&R!


**A/N: New fic! You know what that means: A long and rambley author's note! Sadly, if you want to understand the story, you do actually have to read it.**

**Basically, this fic is about Pre- Dark Days and how the original rebellion came to be. In an interview, Suzanne Collins stated that District Eight and Four were the first to rebel, so this fic is set in District Eight. If some things seem to 'cushy' or 'pleasant' to be in Panem, just remember that this is before the Capital was **_**too**_** oppressive. Don't you worry—the character's lives will be horrible by the end.**

**Thanks a million to my new beta, SuperStar091. She really is a **_**Superstar **_**(see what I did there) and I'm sure you all will appreciate all my typos and choppy story lines disappearing. **

**This chapter is very long (4000 words!) and I **_**hope**_** to keep all chapters as long as this one, but I can't promise anything. I will do my absolute best to update weekly, but please don't kill me if I miss a week or so!**

**So, without further ado, here is Chapter One!**

**(Okay so there is one further ado…)**

**Disclaimer: This is Suzanne Collins' world. I just like to play in it.**

**Chapter One: In Which Slippers are Thrown, a Drumroll Occurs, and Tests are Graded with Crayons.**

Everything starts with a whisper. An idea, hurriedly passed on, a secret note, crumpled in a fist and burned. The warm breath on an ear, the slight shudder of learning something that nobody else knows. But whispers eventually shift into something more tangible. Whispers lead to conversations, meetings, plans. When whispers are carried out, everything changes.

My Dad was a whisperer. He whispered to a large group of followers down at the old abandoned warehouse. The whispers grew louder, braver, reckless. His whispers turned into secret midnight missions, and public speeches. His whispers were whispered right into the ear of our mayor, who whispered them over the phone into the ear of President Snow, who whispered a command through an earpiece, which led to missiles whispering through the air, a free-fall through the sky. The whispers don't end when the instigators are dead. They just die down; stay low for a while before they can rise up once again. Then again, I didn't know about any of this until I was twenty two years old.

I awaken in my small town house and stretch, attempting to keep my legs in the small bubble of warmth protecting me from the frigid air. Careful not to let any cold air in, I slide my arm up and rub my nose to get some blood circulating. Blood rushed back to the tip of my nose, causing it to tingle pleasantly. Tugging the covers up to my chin, I snuggle further down into my pillow and sigh with content. I would gladly devote the rest of my morning to lying in bed like this, but the shrill work whistle echoes around the district, and I mentally prepare myself to face yet another day of work.

As quickly as I can, I jerk off the covers and slide my feet into my raggedy, worn out slippers before padding downstairs. Yanking open several drawers and opening several cabinets, I discover two slices of bread wrapped in plastic and I pull those out, making a mental note to stop by the baker's shop on the way home from work.

I crack my last egg into one of my bowls, and mix in a few tablespoons of milk. After dipping the bread slices in the egg and milk, I lay them on the stove and lean against the counter while they cook. In only a few minutes, the smell of delicious French toast fills my small house, making my mouth water.

I take the bread off the stove and slide it onto a plate, choosing a fork from a drawer. Just as I'm about to take a bite, somebody knocks at the door. I patter over, open it, and see one of my best friends and co-workers Lea Burton on the other side.

Her parents were my father's partners in their rebellion attempt, but Lea was told her parents died in a factory accident. I've never told her the truth because I don't think she would want to know; after all these years it would just be too painful.

"Hey, Lea, what's up?"

"Not much. What's up with you?"

"Just making breakfast. The whistle will blow in about ten minutes and I still have to get dressed. Come on in, make yourself at home, but if you even think about touching my breakfast, I will cut you."

Lea chuckles, and steps in, immediately ripping a corner off of my bread and popping it in her mouth. I take one of my slippers off and hurl it at her. It bounces off her shoulder, and she laughs. "Okay, no more, no more!"

I narrow my eyes at her and maintain eye contact as I slowly back up the stairs to my room. Lea smirks and pretends to take another bite, but sets it down with a laugh as I reach for my other slipper. As quickly as I can, I run up to my room and slide into some long, black pants and a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt before grabbing my boots and running back down the stairs. Lea is perched at the table, her papers and pencils already strewn about.

"How did you manage to make a mess in the thirty seconds I was upstairs?" I ask with a smile, and she retaliates by crumpling up one of her flawed designs and throwing it at me. I easily catch it, and smooth it out. It is just a rough sketch, and she hasn't added color yet, but the dress before me is actually quite stunning.

"Why are you getting rid of this one?" I ask Lea, holding up the paper.

"The mock-up was flawed. The dress is supposed to be silk, but the zigzag stitch kept tearing the fabric."

I shrug, and toss the dress design in the trash. "Well, they can't all be winners. How many do we have so far this week?"

"Seven. We have to make one more today if we want to fill the quota."

I nod, and scarf down the rest of my breakfast. "Come on, let's go."

Lea gathers her papers and we walk out the door, just as the whistle blows again. Seconds later, the train pulls up and we climb aboard, grabbing the handles dangling from the roof. We zoom along the tracks for a few minutes before it screeches to a halt in front of our warehouse. Lea and I, along with some of our co-workers, exit the train and walk through the doors.

I punch in my time card and grab my nametag reading "Calico Flax; Manager" before walking into the office Lea and I share. My folder is still sitting on my desk, and I pull out the latest design I've been working on. It is coal black at the bodice, gradually growing lighter and lighter until it is snow white at the hem. I tap my fingers on the desk for a few seconds before penciling in some silver snowflakes on the darkest parts of the dress and some black, sparkly swirls around the hem.

I show it to Lea. "What do you think?"

I hand it to Lea. She contemplates it for a moment, then smiles and nods her head. "I actually like it a lot. I'll go show it to Vel and see what he says."

Vel is our boss. While he is good—as bosses go—he does tend to be very picky with the dresses we make. After Lea leaves, I gather up the rest of my paper. I'm fairly nervous, but also hopeful— If Vel approves this design, both Lea's and my quota will be filled for the week and we will actually be able to go home early. She walks back through the door and I sit up straight.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Lea asks, feigning cluelessness.

"What did Vel say?

"He…" Lea starts, but pauses so I grab another pencil and tap out a drumroll on the side of a desk.

"Liked it!" she exclaims.

I throw my pencils in the air and cheer. "Where do you want to go? We have basically the whole day!"

"Do you want to go see if Camo is free? I heard a rumor that school is getting off early to see some special announcement from The Capital."

I grab my coat and punch out my timecard before going outside. Lea and I walk along the road for a while before we reach the side road up to the cliffs. "Hey, do you mind if I go see my Mom really quickly? I'll meet you and Camo in the District Square in about half an hour?" I tell her, and she hugs me goodbye.

"Sure, sounds good. Tell her I say hi."

"Will do."

I start the long trek up the cliffside trail to see my Mom. Exactly two years ago today, Dad died in the warehouse bombing, and I'm worried my Mom will be upset.

When I get there I stop for a moment to admire my childhood house. Once beautiful, years of wind and snow have stripped much of the light pink paint away, revealing planks of wood. I had so many good memories growing up here, but I don't know how Mom is able to still live here. The second Dad died, all the good memories were replaced by the huge lie he kept from us for years.

When I walk in, Mom is sitting at her table, sipping on some mint tea. I give her a smile, and she stands and holds out her arms for a hug.

"There she is; my little girl decided to visit! How are you?"

"I'm doing well. Lea and I got off work early so I thought I might drop by before the big broadcast from The Capital this afternoon."

"Well I'm glad you did. Today is always… hard. Do you want me to make you some tea?"

"I'm good, thanks though." I pace around the kitchen, debating how best to bring up Dad— or if I even should. She seems okay so far, and I don't want to upset her. I've always managed to cope with this day fairly well, but that's just because I've come to terms with the fact that Dad was a rebel. While I may not like the fact that he kept this from his family for so many years, I respect his ability to stand up for what he believed in.

"So… how are you?"

Mom smirks, and rolls her eyes at me. "If you came here to ask about your Father, you can save it. That was two years ago, and I've had time to get over it. After all, he was putting both of us in danger by doing what he was doing."

I'm not quite sure that Mom ever got over that Dad didn't tell her he was rebelling. I'm not mad at him, so I don't want to disagree with what she says. Instead, I politely find an excuse to leave. "Well, if you need me, I'll be at home. I promised Camo and Lea I'd hang out with them on our day off. Drop by anytime; I'm not strong enough to keep climbing all the way up to you!"

Mom laughs, and I give her a quick hug goodbye before walking back down to the Town Square. Camo and Lea are already there and I give Camo a hug hello. Camo is a teacher down at the school—the same school where we first met. He and I are often mistaken for siblings because we share the same black hair and dark brown eyes, while Lea has very uncommon, ice blue eyes.

Camo slouches, but I still have to stand on my tiptoes to reach up and ruffle his hair. He ducks away and angrily tries to flatten it out. "Hey!" He protests, attempting to peer at his reflection in the Justice Building window. "I just brushed that… at some point this week!"

Lea and I laugh and eventually Camo chuckles slightly. Camo may be a dork, but he has been one of my closest friends since kindergarten. Nothing romantic has ever happened between us—even in high school when he liked me—but he is known around the District as very attractive.

Lea points to the sign in the window reading "All District Eight citizens must watch President Snow's speech at five o'clock tonight. Violators will be jailed."

"Hey, you work at the school," I inquire. "Do you have any idea about what this is about?"

Camo shakes his head, shaggy and messy hair whipping around. "All I know is that we haven't gotten any pens for the last month. I hope they address that, because grading has gotten a lot harder using a crayon."

Lea and I look at each other and start laughing at the image of twenty-three year old Camo struggling to grade papers with a crayon.

"It's not funny!" Camo pouts, but he is smiling.

"Why don't you just use a pencil?" I ask and Camo rolls his eyes at me.

"If I use pencil, the kids will just erase the number they got wrong, and then tell me I made a mistake with my calculations!"

I invite both of them back to my place. "I told my Mom I'd be at my house, so do you all want to watch the broadcast from there? We just have to stop by the baker's on the way home to pick some stuff up."

They both agree it sounds better than sitting along in our houses, so we walk along the square until we reach the small baker's shop. I hold the door open for a middle aged woman with short, grey hair, and turn to Lea and Camo once she goes inside.

"Do you guys think my hair will look like that when I get older? She couldn't have been more than forty, and her hair was already grey!" I whisper, touching my hair in worry.

Camo ruffles my hair as payback from earlier. "All I know is that you could not pull off grey hair."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically.

We enter the shop and look around for some bread and look at the rack of cookies, thinking that I might pick up a little treat for me, Lea, and Camo. Lea taps me on the back and I jump, hoping she doesn't notice my interest in the cookies.

"What's up?" I ask, confused.

She leans in close and whispers, "Where is the woman with the grey hair?"

I look around and sure enough, the woman is nowhere to be seen. "Maybe she left through a back door?"

Lea gives me her patented 'cut the crap' look and I shoot her a 'what?" look.

"Calico, I worked here in high school. There isn't a back door."

Camo comes over with two loafs of bread. "You guys ready? I think the baker might be in the back, but I've met him at parent-teacher conferences. I can go get him."

"Yeah, yeah," Lea waves him back without thinking, too distracted by the disappearing woman.

Camo opens the door to the back and gasps. Lea and I look up from our whispered conversation to see what he sees.

The baker stands, shocked, in the doorway to his office, his small frame doing little to conceal the mass of people in there with him. I spot the grey-haired woman standing at a makeshift podium made of three cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. She looks frozen in fear, but she relaxes slightly when she sees Lea and me. Is that a touch of recognition in her eyes?

The baker looks like is struggling deciding what to do. The grey-haired woman, stepping down from the podium, calls out "Don't just stand there, Wev, bring them in!"

The baker gestures awkwardly for us to enter the room, and we do, confused and scared as to what's going on.

Lea sits down right away, looking perfectly confident, but Camo and I still stand in the middle of the room. The grey-haired woman walks out to meet us at the doorway and reaches her hand out. I shake it tentatively.

"Hello, my name is Lacey Weave. You may remember me; I came over to meet with your Dad several times, but you were very young. I stopped coming over once you grew up a bit, because he didn't want you to know about his…work."

I clear my throat and find my voice. "My…Dad? You knew my Dad?"

"I knew your Dad," she chuckles. "And I knew both your parents," she says, turning to Lea.

"How could you have known my parents? A pipe—" Her voice breaks, but she continues before I can comfort her. "Exploded at their factory the same day the rebels were bombed. It wasn't even that big of a story because everyone was focusing on the rebels!"

Lacey looks closer at Lea. "Do you really not know how your parents died?" she asked softly, almost hesitant to approach the situation at hand.

Lea looks indignant, and stands up. She is much shorter than Lacey but she is so confident that she seems to be the tallest one in the room. Only I notice the small tremor in her hands and her clenched jaw. Years of friendship with her have taught me that her jaw only clenches when she is trying not to cry. "Of course I know how my parents died! It was two years ago today! They died at the factory…"

She trails off as she realizes what must have really happened. I go over and put a comforting arm on her shoulder, but she whirls on me. "You knew?! You knew all this time and yet you said nothing! What kind of friend are you?"

"Lea, I'm sorry! I didn't know if you knew, and I didn't want your memory of your parents to change!"

Lea looks like she is debating to leave, but I grab her arm. "Lea, please, don't leave!"

"Why should I stay?" She yells. Several people around the room shift uncomfortable, debating about telling her to be a bit quieter.

"Let her yell," the baker says softly. "Nobody else is in the bakery anyways.

Lacey looks between the two of us, unsure how to continue. "You should stay… because we are all that is left of what your parents believed in."

Lea pauses at the door but finally sits back down, still looking furious.

"I'm sorry you stumbled across our meeting, but you have convinced us that we need tighter security at our headquarters. I'm sure you already know what's going on, so I'll cut right to the point. Calico, not everyone was in your Father's warehouse the day of the bombing. About five of us were unable to attend the meeting, and we've carried on his legacy. Over the years our numbers have grown, but we still don't have enough people—or enough information—to do anything about it. We need your assurance that you won't report any of this to the Peacekeepers."

I don't really know what to say. If they get caught, and the Peacekeepers find out that I knew about this, I will be executed for sure, but these people knew my Dad, and I feel like I would be betraying him if I told anybody about this. I look to Camo and Lea for conformation, and Camo nods. Lea refuses to meet my eyes.

"We won't tell."

Lacey shakes my hand again. "Thank you very much." She sits on a chair, and most of the tension in the room leaves with the large breath she lets out. By breaking the law and agreeing to silence, we have saved the lives of over fifty people.

The baker smiles at me. "We are very grateful. Your bread is on the house. I feel I've put you through too much today to make you pay."

Lea, Camo, and I thank them, before taking the bread and leaving.

Camo starts to say something about the meeting, but I clear my throat loudly and nod my head in the direction of a Peacekeeper standing at the corner. "We really should get home in time for the broadcast," I say loudly, and Lea and Camo follow my lead.

We walk silently back to my house, each absorbing and trying to process what happened in the bakery. I'm so lost in thought that I almost trip over my doorframe, but I catch myself at the last second.

Camo helps me put the bread up in the cabinets, and I turn on the television. "Scoot," I tell Camo, and wedge myself between the couch's arm and him just as President Snow comes on screen.

The camera only amplifies his pasty white skin, puffy red lips, and dark eyes, much like my own. He smiles at the camera, stretching his lips so wide I'm worried the implants will explode.

"When I came into the position of President last year, our nation was in a horrible food shortage that we have only just began to recover from. While things are steadily improving, we have had to cut back on several items, such as pens, fabric, and food due to bad weather in Districts Eleven and Four. I assure you that everyone here in the Capital is sacrificing just as much as you in the Districts, and I would hope that we are able to overcome these issues as one nation.

The screen goes black, and Camo frowns. "That's funny. I have a friend in District Four who said the weather was excellent and they were catching more fish than usual. I'm going to call her and see if she's okay."

He picks up the phone from the wall and dials his friend's number, and sets the phone down seconds later with a worried look on his face. "The… call wouldn't go through. It said that lines between districts are down."

Lea and I look at each other, her anger towards me forgotten with her curiosity and confusion. "What does this mean?" I ask, and she shrugs. Camo looks at me, fear in his eyes.

"I think I know what it means. They're isolating us. I'm sure there is something going on in District Four and Ten, but I'm sure it's not weather. I'm going back the bakery. Are you guys in?"

Lea stands up immediately. "You bet. I want to know what's going on and I'm guessing they would have answers. Calico?" she asks, turning to me. I look at her and she gives me a slight smile. Standing up, I smile bravely. "I'm in."

Camo runs to the door first, and flings it open. The sun is going down and the glare illuminates him, outlining his figure in an orange-red glow. Lea and I follow him out the door, and I keep my eyes on the road, careful not to trip over the cobblestones.

The run to the bakery only takes a few minutes, and the adrenaline coursing through my body lets me run just as fast as the athletic Camo and the anger-fueled Lea.

Lea flings open the door and rushes up to the baker. "You're out here, so I'm assuming the meeting is over. We don't know what's going on in the rest of Panem, but we know it's sure as hell not weather. Count us in; we want to help."

The baker looks at Camo and I, who are standing slightly behind Lea. "Is this true?"

I nod slowly, as does Camo, and the baker gives us a slight smile.

"Listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once. Go home, go to sleep, act normal. In the morning, you need to quit your jobs, but you have to have a legitimate reason so nobody gets suspicious. Meet back here at one o'clock exactly. Don't be late."

The baker waves us out the door and we go into the streets, slightly damp as rain starts to fall.

I'm shaking from adrenaline, nerves, and panic. "I guess I'll see you two tomorrow?"

Lea refuses to meet my gaze, but Camo's eyes are filled with the same emotions I'm feeling. "Tomorrow," he states, and they both go home.

I guess this is really happening. I am officially a rebel.

**A/N: Hope you all liked it! Please don't forget to leave a review and follow the story if you want to see future chapters!**

**Come on. The button is **_**right**_** there. You know you want to click it. I dare you to click it. I double dare you to click it.**

**Click it**

**~TrackerJackson**


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